


Chamberlain of Ruin

by grey_sw (grey)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Bondage, Chains, Consensual Corruption, Dark!Ignis, Dark!Noct, Demon Sex, Loyalty, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Scourge Sex, Worldbuilding, cat!Ignis, dark Noct, dark ignis, demon transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 13:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18195413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey/pseuds/grey_sw
Summary: After everything, Ignis is still loyal... and oh, how he lusts for Noct!





	Chamberlain of Ruin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mars_McKie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mars_McKie/gifts).



> An Ignoct White Day gift for marsmckie, who requested the following prompts:
> 
> Ignis and Noct in lingerie  
> Cat!Noct and/or Cat!Ignis (dress up or transformation)  
> Dark King Noctis with Ignis trapped (either tied to the throne, bound to Noct's bed, or shackled in a dungeon)  
> "Stop it, you tease!"
> 
> I loved the Dark King Noctis idea, but halfway through I realized I could slip all four prompts into the story, so I did. Hope you enjoy it!

Ignis wakes slowly, stretching. The chain that binds his wrist sings a soft, silver song against the King's bedpost, so he does it again just to hear it, luxuriating in its notes. Noct must be out, because Ignis can't hear him, but that's all right. He'll return in due time. 

Just the thought of him heats Ignis' blood. Noct's darkness, his power, his _heat_ \-- Ignis wants it. Ignis wants _him_ , which is why he is chained, because otherwise he'd never give his liege a moment's rest... although rest is likely not why Noct has left him, not tonight. It's not why Ignis rolls, rubbing his nearly-naked body against the silken covers like a cat, and it's not why his voice rings out in the empty room, hungry, needy.

"Noct," he sighs, and reaches down to play with his silk-clad cock with idle, teasing fingers. It won't do to come, not before Noct does -- even in all his neediness, Ignis pauses a moment to appreciate the double pun -- but Ignis has had plenty of practice waiting. He keens, rubbing himself to full hardness, and then ruts into the bed, ass in the air for the whole world to see.

There is no world left, of course. Not anymore, not that matters. Nothing but him and Noct.

"Couldn't wait for me, could you, Specs?" Noct's voice is amused, at least -- Ignis is glad of that, despite his willfulness. He hadn't _meant_ to disobey. He trembles, and the cuff at his wrist rings out a happy tune.

"Noct," Ignis whispers, and oh, he's hungry. He can't help it. His breath comes quick, his nostrils flare. Noctis' scent is deep with darkness, and Ignis wants it all.

"That's me," Noct purrs, and slides into bed beside him, stroking his flanks, his belly. He runs his fingers along the thin slip of silk that hides Ignis' cock, teasing up and down the strip of lace that adorns it. It doesn't do much to cover Ignis -- not as he is now -- but the slide of it is a delight against his throbbing dick. Ignis groans his eagerness, and Noct indulges him, undoing the ties at the small of his back to let the little scrap of lingerie fall away. 

Noct is still fully clothed, and the coins and bones that adorn him tinkle against Ignis' chain, one by one. Ignis reaches for him, and Noct lets him; lets him draw his royal cloak away, lets him unbuckle his belt and draw out his shirt to reveal the full, pulsing heat of him.

"My King," Ignis breathes. "You've returned." Ignis gives Noct a moment to breathe, a moment to respond -- a moment in which to stop him, if he so pleases -- and then bows his head to suck, playing his tongue against the ridge of Noct's cockhead. It's big, plump, swollen with power: Ignis was right, Noct's been hunting. The feel of it drives Ignis to suck harder, using both hands to stroke the base of it while his throat works. Noct's rumble of pleasure sends a thrill down Ignis' spine, pooling between his legs.

"Mmm," Noct praises him. "That's right. Suck it, Iggy... drink it all down. I might even let you hunt tonight, if you do a good job."

Ignis hums his assent around the cock in his mouth, and savors the gasp that wrings out of Noct. He's always enjoyed this, always, and even more now that the salt on his tongue is so wonderfully dark, so rich with promise. He rubs Noct's slit with the tip of his tongue until more of it starts to flow, smirking at the taste, and then glances up coyly to where he knows Noct's gaze must be. (Blind or not, Ignis knows his beloved King.) 

"Iggy," Noct groans, and that's confirmation enough. "Stop it, you tease..."

Ignis takes him a little deeper again, suckling, letting Noct bump against his cheek and tongue. He knows how nice this must look, with Noct's fat cock parting eager, wet lips; he's not teasing now, not as he brings his chained hand up to cradle Noct's balls, slipping further back to rub at the skin behind them. 

Noct pushes into his mouth, eager now, filling his throat more deeply with each aborted thrust. Ignis opens for him and lets himself relax, lulled by the sound of Noct's breathing growing faster, ragged, harsh. It's always right when it's the two of them, always right when Noct is here. His scent, his heat, the rhythmic flex of his ass as he drives his cock home: it's all Ignis needs, forever.

 _Truly forever, now,_ he thinks, and the thought makes his cock twitch, leaking. _Forever, always, ah, my Noct--_

"Almost," Noct grunts. "Iggy, Ignis, can't hold back..."

 _Don't,_ Ignis thinks, and draws his nails down the globes of Noct's ass. The scent of black blood, the stink of Scourge, the promise of power -- it hits Ignis' nostrils like a drug, drowning him in need. Noct yowls his joy like a cat as he comes down Ignis' throat, and the might that fills Ignis' body blanks his mind, leaving his body to thrust helplessly as he, too, sprays thick ropes of plasmodium across his King's heaving chest.

Bliss, truest bliss.

\---

Ignis wakes to the soothing feel of Noct petting through his hair. 

"Ignis. My Igs. That was..." Noct murmurs the words into his ear, and the Ring on his hand only burns Ignis a little.

"It was, indeed." Ignis can't help how smug he sounds; not with a fresh dose of Noct's power running through him, not with the rushing thrum of immortality filling his veins. Noct chuckles and runs his fingers down the shell of Ignis' ear, tickling, teasing. 

The faint promise of another round is intriguing, but now that his desperate hunger has receded, Ignis remembers something else.

"You said something about a hunt?" he asks.

"If you want." The smirk is evident in Noct's voice, too, because he _knows_ what Ignis wants. Servant or not, he's not made just to adorn Noct's bed. He works hard to keep his other talents honed and ready, and the thought of exercising them is a pleasant one.

"I do."

"'k then, Grand Chamberlain. Come back home when you're finished." The click of the key in Ignis' silver lock seems to fill the room, though it's only symbolic -- no mortal lock could truly hold him, not now.

 _As some in our fine city are soon to learn,_ Ignis thinks, and he smiles to himself as he retires to the next room to don his uniform.

\---

His city is quiet, silent as ever. The sound of dry leaves guttering through the streets cuts through the low, bass noises of daemons, shifting in and out of the darkness that sustains them. Beneath it all there's a feeling, a faint notion of life, and Ignis follows its thread toward the edge of the city -- toward the inner edge of the Dome.

Ignis remembers the Wall, of course. He'd seen it every day on his way to school as a child; the edge of the city in those days was both literal and concave, a broad band of shimmering purple subbing in for the sky. The Dome must look akin to it, or so Ignis envisions it: black, roiling, a vaulted ceiling of poisonous Scourge. It cheers him to think of it. Noct's gift, a way to "bring back the dawn" for the rest of Eos while preserving his own, dark kingdom for himself and Ignis. 

And yet the people of Lestallum are here again, snooping around as though they reject their King's righteous rule. They trespass upon his city as they please, scratching in corners, looking for treasure. They dare to throw Noct's generous gift in his face.

Human beings are never satisfied, never at peace. Ignis knows, for he once was one... and _oh_ , how he hates.

There are six of them, Ignis thinks, clustered by the footings of the old Crown Bank. He counts their footsteps twice to be sure. Their voices float up to where he's hidden, tucked into the darkness beneath the lintel of a second-story window.

"You sure this is it?"

"Says 'bank' in fifty foot letters, don't it?"

"I guess. But..."

"Shut up. There's enough gil 'n crowns in here to buy our way out of the Guard forever. All we gotta do is pick it up." 

"What about the mission?" This newest voice is smaller, female, with a hint of steel to it.

"Kill the King, clear out the daemons? Be my guest! But I'm tellin' you, nobody ever comes back. We oughta take the money and run before it's too late. Hire a boat, hit up Gralea. They're starting to rebuild out there, and nobody'll know who we are..."

Ignis hears none of it, not after _kill the King_. His power rises within him, drowning him in memory.

\---

The scent of campfire smoke and crisp, royal linen; the stench of failure. Ignis' King stands before him as a sacrifice, dressed and ready to die.

"...and now, I'm on my own."

"No." Ignis shakes his head. "You won't be going alone. I'll--"

"You're right. I mean, I wouldn't have made it all this way without you guys. Why stop now?" There's a sound: Noct's boots, scuffing on the rocks of the Haven as he turns toward Ignis. "In the end, I--"

Ignis steps boldly forward, into Noct's space, silencing him. There's a moment of shock, of stillness, but Ignis presses on into it, heedless of everything. 

"I mean it. You don't have to do this, Noct."

"No! I do. Bahamut said--"

"Listen to me! I've found another way. The Accursed is not just a daemon, nor a man cursed to live forever."

"...'k. I'm listening, Iggy."

"Ardyn _is_ the Scourge. He controls it, he wields it like a weapon. Prompto and I went back to Gralea together, the year after you went missing. We watched him there, him and his ways. He vanishes into smoke whenever he feels like it; he cannot be killed."

"So?"

"So, Talcott and I found histories which speak of a King who healed the Scourge by taking it into himself. Ardyn successfully cleansed the Starscourge from others -- _from the world_ , Noct!" 

"And?"

Ignis' voice drops into a whisper. "...and in doing so, he gained eternal life."

"Ignis," Noct sighs, the way he used to before an illicit bit of stargazing outside the Wall, or an impromptu trip to a late-night cafe. "What're you saying?"

\---

 _Kill the King_.

\---

"Gods, Iggy." Prompto's voice is small, yet it doesn't waver; his shoulders are set. Ten years of unrelenting darkness has changed him, as it's changed them all. "You're serious about...?"

"Most certainly. It's the only way, Prompto. It's already done."

A sound comes out of their gunner, then: like a breath, like a little squeak. It's the kind of sound he might've been ashamed of, once upon a time.

"I-I can't go there, Iggy. I can't, I can't take it. I was made to be _one of them_ , and now you want me to--"

"Shh," Ignis whispers. "I know. It's all right."

"How can it be? Fuck, Ignis, you were there. You know what Noct was like when he came out of the throne room. All covered in that--that black smoke, or whatever the fuck that was. And he was _smiling!_ He stinks like death! How can that be all right?"

"We'll make it right, you and I," Ignis murmurs. He draws Prompto close, into the circle of his arms; the warmth of him is ever a comfort, nestled against the place where Ignis' heart once was. "Not to worry, Prom. It'll only be a moment."

"Wait, what..." The breath goes out of Prompto in a sigh, long and slow, frothing out through the fresh new slit in his lung. He slumps, folding down over Ignis' arm, around the knife in his gloved hand. 

Ignis lays him down carefully, gently, and stands for a while in grief, and then goes to hear Gladiolus' answer.

\---

He'd _known_ what Gladio's answer would be. Not quite so easy, that... but still easy enough, in the end.

\---

Ignis comes back to himself just in time to catch the words _let's split up and find the treasure_. He waits, and within fifteen minutes these ersatz Guardsmen have solved one-sixth of his problem for him: the woman, the one who'd spoken up earlier, dies beneath the first man's sword.

 _How Lestallum has fallen,_ he thinks, and drops down behind the murderer on silent, red-soled boots. _Disgusting_.

It's the work of a moment, and Ignis moves on. He can feel himself changing as he goes. The Scourge flows through him, forming and reforming til he's bigger, longer, clawed, fanged. Thick, sleek fur-smoke closes him over, and his tufted ears swivel to snatch each fragment of sound from the air.

Cats see in the dark. Ignis is like that, now -- except for the seeing part -- and his enemies haven't the time to scream.

The first few he takes with his claws, cutting them down from above. For some reason nobody ever thinks to look up, and of course they don't ever _hear_ , and so they die. The next Ignis corners, savoring his terror as he tries to breathe through the Scourge that chokes him. A delight, really, especially after his body fruits and swells and bursts. (The Tonberry that emerges makes such cute, high-pitched sounds; Prompto would have loved it.)

Ignis leads it to the last invader, and lets it drive the knife in in his stead. _Work smarter, not harder_ was ever his motto, though it hardly matters now. He leaves them -- the Tonberry, turning in circles, and the corpse, turning no more -- in a wild drift of thousand-Crown bills, and leaves the bank's door open behind him.

He lets his form dissipate as he goes, slipping across Insomnia in an instant. He's already growing hungry again, and weary, and only Noct can feed him and fuck him and let him rest: and as the lock snicks closed again, Ignis gives an indulgent smile at the delightful reversal of roles.


End file.
